Almost
by Pazzesco
Summary: She was supposed to imagine herself wrapped around a boy in a varsity jacket, not a man in a cardigan sweater.
1. Chapter 1

It was almost perfect, she thought. She was an almost mother, and he was an almost father. He propped her up against the onslaught of high school cruelty when no one else did.

"_You really think that I can get it all back one day?" _

"_No. I think you can get something even better."_

She gave him absolution when no one else would.

"_You're a really good teacher. Even if everybody is calling you a man whore."_

They were almost perfect.

Fifteen years lay between them – an impassable chasm during the day. Under the fluorescent lights of the choir room, and the hot spotlights of the auditorium they never seemed further apart, or more different. A teacher and student who walked the same halls everyday but led such different lives. She was supposed to imagine herself wrapped around a boy in a varsity jacket, not a man in a cardigan sweater. She was supposed to feel tingles up her spine when Puck leaned across the lunch table with a grin and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Not when her teacher handed her sheet music with a lopsided smile.

At night she imagined the gap between them shrinking. Curled up in Mercedes' brother's old room, the canned laughter of a sitcom wafting upstairs, she shut her eyes tight and let her imagination take her someplace else. To the dark of his apartment where the only sounds would be their whispers and the light scratching of skin against skin.

It was at the end of last year, faced with everything she had already lost, when she realized what else she had stood to lose.

"_If you wanted the moon I would try to make a start, but I would rather you let me give my heart..._"

They had run into each other (literally) at Starbucks on a Wednesday afternoon a few weeks after school let out. She was reading a text from Puck - '_hey babe kicked finn out so u could come ovr and chill where r u_?' - when she slammed into him. At first it was awkward – seeing a teacher outside of their day-to-day role is a shock to the system. He was in a t-shirt and jeans, his hair was shorter and he was unshaven. He looked young, but so did she, in yoga pants and a tank top with her hair falling into her face. After the perfunctory "How are you?" "How's your summer?" They sat down with their drinks and fell into a comfortable, but slightly unexpected conversation. She could count on one hand the number of real conversations she'd had with Mr. Schuester. She couldn't really blame him, she had in one way or another helped his wife (_ex_-wife, she reminded herself) deceive him into thinking he was going to become a father. He never seemed to hold it against her though. He gave her the same heartfelt encouragement he did the rest of the club, and helped keep her together in the aftermath of the glists.

She found it easy to fall into conversation with him, though she didn't tell him about Puck trying to woo her back into his house and into a relationship. And how all she felt was a hollow ache every time he touched her. And he didn't explain to her why his jaw tightened and his back stiffened when he saw a billboard for Lima Dental Associates outside the coffee shop window.

They did talk – about Glee at first, and then music in general (they both had Stevie Wonder on their iPods, and agreed that _Superstition _would be a fun number to do for next year's sectionals). As she started her second drink she told him about how when she was young, her mother would play her old funk records softly before her father came home from work. By the time she had finished she had quietly confided that she had rejected her mother's invitation to come 'home', instead choosing to stay with Mercedes' family while her brother was studying abroad.

He smiled and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and when he moved away she still felt his thumb rubbing gently against her collarbone.

It was then that her phone chimed from where it lay on the table. It was Mercedes, wondering where she had gotten to.

"I should...um...probably get going," she said, shoving her phone back into pocket. "She thought I was just going to grab something and come back." He pushed his chair back with a guilty look on his face, like he had been caught stealing change out of the tip jar on the counter.

"Of course," he said, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I didn't mean to hold you up." She wanted to reassure him that sitting in a crowded Starbucks, talking with him about 70's funk was the most fun she'd had all summer. It was the 'with _him_' part that troubled her.

"No...I mean, it's really nice to talk to someone that's not Mercedes or..or Puck." They both stood and she cleared her throat awkwardly. "If you're not busy...not that I'm saying you don't have anything to do..." _What is wrong with you?_, shouted a voice in her head that sounded disturbingly like Coach Sylvester, _Get it together! _Mr. Schuester interrupted her internal diatribe with a genuine smile.

"You mentioned something about the Ohio Players?" he asked as he threw both of their cups into the trash and walked with her towards the door. "I have a few cd's at home I can dig up, maybe you'd like to borrow them?" She knew it was a veiled invitation to meet again. He was giving her an out if she felt uncomfortable, or just bored by him.

"I'd love to."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews so far (_please_ keep them coming!), I haven't written creatively in a long time, so it's nice to know I'm not completely messing up. **

**Disclaimer: It's shocking, but I don't own Glee. No copyright infringement is intended. Also, angels. **

* * *

"Are you okay?"

She's curled up in a ball in a bed that isn't hers, in a house that isn't hers, as tears stream quietly down her face. Apparently not quietly enough though. She uses her sleeve to rub the tear tracks away before sitting up to face Mercedes in the doorway.

"I'm fine," she says. But she sounds congested from crying, and the 'fine' escapes her lips sounding more like a wish than a fact. Mercedes seems to take this as an invitation and closes the door behind her, taking a seat on her brother Jordan's ratty old desk chair.

"What did he say?" she asked sadly. 'He' was Puck, who after weeks of little to no communication with Quinn, had come over to the Jones' to see her in person. Somehow the two of them had ended up on opposite ends of the driveway, throwing hurtful words at each other, and giving the neighbors a show they usually didn't get to see in a neighborhood as nice as this.

He had come over with good (if not slightly misguided) intentions. He wanted to know if she was okay after the "_baby thing_", to tell her – once again – that he wanted to be with her, and that his mom had "_totally chilled out, so if you, like, wanted to come back she'd be cool about it._" She couldn't blame him for wanting some kind of conversation with her. She had been dodging his texts and calls as deftly as she had been dodging coming to grips with her life.

She wanted so badly to tell him that no, she was not okay after the "baby thing". Every time she took a shower, or changed clothes, or sometimes for no reason at all she would place a hand on her once again flat stomach and imagine the life her daughter would have without her. She wished she could calmly sit him down and tell him that every time she looked into his eyes now she hurt, about how she could never trust him anyway, and how they were thrown together by circumstance, not by choice. But those words stuck in her throat, trapped by frustration.

Instead she snapped out at him, feeling vindictiveness flow through her like it only did when she wore her cheerios uniform and tight ponytail. She watched her words cut him and felt a mixture of shame and satisfaction. Puck being Puck, he didn't hesitate to hide his hurt and fire back. After that the most distinct thing she remembers is his truck screeching away from the curb.

She comes back to the present, taking in Mercedes' concerned face.

"It's nothing," she assures her with a sad smile. "Just stupid drama." After a few minutes, Mercedes seems assured that she'll be alright for now and leaves her be. She flops back down on the bed, feeling more alone than she ever has.

* * *

"So in the middle of the number I somehow spin her right into the bass player, who fell on the keyboardist, who took down one of the cymbals..."

Her laughter cuts through the fog of human bustle, as people move around their table. They're back at Starbucks, this time without any of their previous encounter's awkwardness. On the table in front of them lay cd jewel cases – Mr. Schue had kept his promise to lend her some of his music. She's in a genuinely good mood for the first time since...well...when she last talked with him about a week ago.

If someone had told her a few months ago, or even a few weeks ago, that she would be enjoying herself this much with a _teacher_ of all people she would have laughed. Or grimaced at the thought. But there's no denying it – while their topics of conversation are silly and lighthearted, she feels as if she needs this. Mercedes has turned into one of her closest friends (even though she never _really_ had that many to begin with), but she looks at her like shes going to fall apart at any moment. She needs someone to bring lightness back to her, and as she watches mirth brighten Mr. Schuester's eyes, she thinks he might be the one to do it.

"I'm assuming you didn't take Sectionals that year?" she asks, and he answers her with a barking laugh.

* * *

They become something more than teacher and student. Sometime in July he ceases to be sweater vest-and-tie Mr. Schuester and becomes ripped jeans-and-converse Will. She's no longer hesitant to share with him the details of her failed relationship with Puck (and with Finn for that matter). When she mentions Ms. Pillsbury during a bizarre story of Brittany keeping a bird in her locker, he doesn't look angry or sad. He just laughs with her.

He shares with her as well. He was beat up for taking dance lessons as a kid, but he never regretted it. He played soccer in high school and college. He has a strange affinity for chocolate chip cookies, and hates when he finds a raisin in them. He likes German beer. Despite the barrage of insults from Coach Sylvester, he defiantly styles his hair every morning. These are a few of the precious facts she learns from him over the next few weeks. She treasures them and files them away in her mind as pictures – a little boy with a mop of hair in a room full of mirrors. A teenager on the McKinley High athletic fields. A man, fresh from the shower, running his hands through his hair in a steamy bathroom. That movie gets played more than the others. They're part of an odd but beautiful friendship now. But the twist in her stomach when she closes her eyes at night and sees his face tells her there's yet more to be discovered.

They meet for coffee, or at a diner, once at Schoonover Park. From the outside it looks so innocent, and it is, really. But on the inside she feels her stomach swoop when he laughs. Her nerves spark when he accidentally brushes against her. Her head swims when he places a guiding hand on the small of her back. And then all of a sudden it doesn't seem so innocent anymore.

She isn't an idiot. She knows girls develop silly crushes on their teachers all the time. She watched Rachel Berry mooning over him earlier this year. That was a disaster. And if there's one thing Quinn Fabray has gotten good at recognizing, it's a disaster. But this doesn't feel like a crush, and it doesn't feel like a disaster either.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N - Thank you all for the reviews again, I hope I can keep you all happy with this chapter haha  
**

With only two weeks left in August it seemed that everyone's goal was to be as lazy as possible before school started up again. This is how Quinn found herself with Mercedes and Kurt, stretched out in Mercedes' living room, half watching what looked like a makeover show. When the host started droning on about some type of big reveal, Mercedes sighed tiredly, and directed her attention to Quinn.

"I swear this has been the most boring summer _ever,"_ she said, rolling her eyes. "I haven't done _anything_. But I noticed you've been out a lot - where have you been hanging?" she asks. "Probably not Puck's since you sent him packing - "

"And Finn says he's been moping around like a sad puppy," added Kurt. "Although I can't picture Puck moping. He's probably stomping around town terrorizing children and the elderly..." He drifts off with a contemplative look on his face, but Mercedes is still looking at her.

This is it, she realizes. She has two options – One, to tell them she's been spending a good part of her summer with their choir director, and explain to them that it's completely innocent (even though she has a hard time believing that herself). The second option is to outright lie – tell a tale about her sister back in town, or her need for alone time. That seems like the best option. If they knew, Mercedes and Kurt would spread the news to the rest of the Glee Club (including Puck) faster than she could blink. She can already feel Will's trepidation when their eyes lock for too long, or when their hands brush. He probably thinks it inappropriate to be spending so much time with a student, and if this...something...between them became public knowledge it would undoubtedly be blown out of proportion. She can't lose what she has with him, however little it may be right now. But she is so sick of lying. And lies have a pretty spectacular way of catching up with her.

She's about to open her mouth – to say what, she has no clue, when a loud screech from the television makes all three of them jump.

"Oh my god, what did they _do to her_?" Kurt gasps as some pour woman sobs in front of a mirror. He and Mercedes launch into a loud discussion on collagen treatments, and any previous conversation is forgotten. She breathes a sigh of relief. The chances of this coming up again are good, but at least now she can avoid the inevitable for a little while longer.

* * *

She spends the next Saturday with Will, first getting burgers at Kewpee before demanding they take a walk to burn the calories. He laughs but agrees. As they cross the street she notices him humming a familiar tune.

"Singin' in the rain?" she asks with a giggle. "It's eighty five degrees and sunny out..."

"Hey, it's a classic song!" he defends, grinning. "_And _a classic movie.."

"I really liked movie musicals when I was little." she says. "I haven't seen any in a long time though." He looks down at her, his eyes bright.

"I have a lot at home, if you'd want to watch one sometime." Not borrow, she thinks in a rush, watch _with_ him. Images fly unbidden across her mind of them together, the lights off, not watching the movie at all. Judging by the flush on his cheeks his mind seems to be on the same track. She knows what he's going to say before he does "_Sorry...Inappropriate..._"

"That'd be really nice," she blurts out before he can stutter an apology. "We need to get popcorn though, I can't watch a movie without it." The word 'we' floats between them, challenging him to argue, and making her feel warmer than she already does.

"Me either," he says softly.

* * *

This wasn't the first time – or even second time - she had been to his apartment. The first time feels like a lifetime ago. When she was ushered in through the parking deck behind Will's back. A guilty blush rises on her cheeks if she thinks about it for too long. The second time she was here was for the 1st Annual New Directions Sob-athon (as Kurt aptly named it). That wasn't particularly pleasant either. But now she climbs the last flight of stairs, and counts the doors in the hall (5th on the right) - determined today will be different.

Her brisk rapping on the door sees it immediately opened. He looks vaguely nervous, but his wide smile and soft 'Hey' as he ushers her in put her at ease. He's dressed as he has been for most of the summer in a t-shirt and jeans. She notices he's barefoot so she slips her flip-flops and places them neatly next to his sneakers. She gets an absurd thrill out of seeing their footwear lined up, and gives herself a mental shake before straightening up to take in her surroundings.

The apartment is the same as she remembers from June, but without the added company of her club members it feels much larger.

"So," he says, "Why don't I get that popcorn started, and you can dig through the cabinet and pick out whatever you like?" She moves into his living room to begin sorting through the DVD's.

When he enters a few minutes later, a bowl of popcorn and two sodas in hand, she's practically doubled over in laughter.

"What's so funny?" he asks, and she holds up a movie.

"You own... _Dirty Dancing_?" When the tips of his ears turn red and he winces in embarrassment she laughs even harder.

"It was Terri's?" he offers, a small smile on his face as he leaves the popcorn and soda on the coffee table.

"Sure..." she says, unconvinced. She's calmed down, but the laughter is still clear in her voice. "I know it's not a musical, but we _have _to watch this now. Without a doubt."

The beginning of the movie passes perfectly as far as she's concerned. As soon as he presses play, she stretches her feet out to the coffee table and leans over to boldly rest her head on his shoulder. To her surprise, he doesn't pull away and simply rests the popcorn bowl on his lap. It's all going to plan (not that she had a _plan_, for goodness sake) until the scene where it's discovered that Penny is pregnant. To her horror, she feels tears beginning to sting the corners of her eyes. _No, no no!_ she thinks desperately. But she can't help it, and when the part comes where Penny attempts an abortion, she can't take it anymore and shoots up from the couch.

"Quinn?" Will asks, concerned, but she doesn't answer him. She rushes into the kitchen to get away, and grabs the counter top tightly, feeling like she's about to hyperventilate. He follows her of course, and places a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" She turns to him and shakes her head.

"It was the baby...I don't know what's wrong with me..." He shushes her and pulls her into a tight hug. When they move apart, he places a hand on her stomach and closes his eyes tightly. His head is bowed and he looks in pain.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. Hot tears fall freely now from her eyes and she reaches out to gently grasp his face.

"Will..." she says desperately and he opens his eyes – she can see the same pain and loss she feels reflected there. "I'm so sorry." This time it's her apologizing, and he knows exactly what she's apologizing for, but barely lets her finish before shaking his head.

"You were scared," he says. "And God, you're so young, you're too - "

She cuts him off by pulling his face to hers roughly and smashing their lips together. She can taste tears but she doesn't care. And when she feels his arms wrap around her back to bring her closer she lets out a half laugh, half sob. She can't help herself, nothing and no one has ever felt as right as this does. But it's that sound that sends a physical shock wave through Will and he pulls himself away from her.

"We can't - "

"Why not?" she whispers. He looks terrified, but she runs her hands down the hard planes of his chest and hooks her fingers through his belt loops. When she pulls his hips to hers the impact makes her gasp and him grunt into her mouth. The feeling of them pressed together like this has heat pooling around her middle and her head spinning wildly. Their tongues move against each other and his hands wrap around her back again. This time though, his fingers nudge under the fabric of her shirt, rubbing gently against the base of her spine. That's all the encouragement she needs to push one hand under his t-shirt and across his stomach, causing them both to moan.

She breaks away and begins to press hot kisses down his neck.

"Just stop fighting this," she whispers.

**A/N: Yes, I am ending the chapter here, sorry! But expect another one soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Once again, thank you all for your kind words, I finished this story a lot faster knowing people were enjoying it. Anyway, here, we go, last chapter! Hope you enjoy! I'm contemplating writing a sequel to this, let me know what you think in the reviews (hint hint)**

_"We can't - "_

_ "Why not?" she whispers. He looks terrified, but she runs her hands down the hard planes of his chest and hooks her fingers through his belt loops. When she pulls his hips to hers the impact makes her gasp and him grunt into her mouth. The feeling of them pressed together like this has heat pooling around her middle and her head spinning wildly. Their tongues move against each other and his hands wrap around her back again. This time though, his fingers nudge under the fabric of her shirt, rubbing gently against the base of her spine. That's all the encouragement she needs to push one hand under his t-shirt and across his stomach, causing them both to moan._

_ She breaks away and begins to press hot kisses down his neck._

_ "Just stop fighting this," she whispers._

"Quinn, please," he almost whines. Their lips meet once more before he gently pulls her head to his shoulder and wraps her tightly in his embrace. "We have to slow down."

He takes both of her her hands in his and leads her back to the couch, where the movie is still playing, forgotten. They sit facing each other and he jabs a button on the remote, sending them into silence.

"We have to slow down," he repeats, but his words don't seem to match his actions. His hands are roaming up and down her back, and he's allowing her to run a hand through his hair. "We should talk about this."

"Almost all summer I've been thinking about what it would be like to be with you," she says. Her words seem to have a physical effect on him. He lets out a long breath and lays down on the couch, bringing her with him, her head resting on his chest. "And I don't want to wait any longer." She lays soft kisses on his shoulder, but he seems to be a million miles away.

"I didn't start out...thinking about you this way," he starts. "I'm not like that." She murmurs her agreement against his neck, already tired of talking.

"But you were so different," he continues," You don't act 16...God _16 -_"

"I'll be 17 in September," she mumbles helpfully against his lips, and he chokes back a laugh.

"You're beautiful," he says, and she sighs against him. "You're the strongest person I know, smart and funny, and I can't stop thinking about you." She moves to kiss him again but he stops her. "If this is going to work," he closes his eyes as if he can't believe what he's saying, "We have to take our time. We can't rush. We both came from bad places. We can't ruin this by getting ahead of ourselves."

* * *

"_Slow down...Take our time_" What did that even _mean_? Everyday that went by found Quinn increasingly frustrated. Having feelings for your teacher was easy during the summer months. Well maybe not easy...but manageable. Go out to eat, take a walk in the park, and see how many times you can 'accidentally' brush up against each other. Simple.

But once September rolled around they spent six hours a day locked into very different roles. She spent her lunches in the cafeteria, blanketed in teenage gossip and the smell of mystery meat. He sat in his office, or the faculty lounge, grading papers. All she wanted to do was join him – curl up next to him and listen to him talk while she laid her head on his shoulder. Instead, she spent 25 minutes a day dodging sad glances from Puck, and questioning glances from Mercedes.

The time they spend together alone is precious. After school and on the weekends they can act on the longing glances sent during Glee club and Spanish class. And whenever she feels like it isn't enough, that this can't possibly work, he holds her, brushes his lips against hers, tells her she's beautiful...and the six hours a day becomes worth it again.

At the first invitational of the year, they bring down the house. They were prefect, and they rush off the stage to a standing ovation. The first person Quinn finds is Will. She wraps her arms tightly around his neck and he spins her around before they're joined by the rest of the group. They're a mess of limbs, and laughter, and shouting. Once they all start to calm down, it's not hard to notice the perfectly coiffed figure waiting in the wings.

"How do they keep letting her get backstage at these things?" Mercedes asks no one in particular. Quinn barely hears her.

"Mom," she says, and the entire group starts to inch away, to give them their privacy. She feels a familiar hand on her shoulder, and looks up to see Will's soft smile. She flashes back to their first meeting at Starbucks, when his comfort was the only thing keeping her head above water. She can feel it again now, the warmth of his hand making her brave.

"We'll be in the lobby, okay?" And with that they all shuffle quietly away.

* * *

It's Kurt, of all people, that firsts suspects something between them. At least she thinks he does. In the middle of a dance rehearsal she spins a little too hard and ends up facing in the opposite direction from everyone else. Will thoughtlessly reaches out to adjust her original stance, his hands firmly wrapped around her hips. She meets his eyes and is fixed with a stare so intense that, for a moment, she forgets what number they're doing.

After he moves away she shakes it off and turns to Kurt, her usual dance partner. The look on his face reminds her of the time they all caught Rachel sneaking out of the auditorium's dressing rooms with Finn, her make up mussed, and her ridiculous animal print sweater done up incorrectly. Kurt can smell gossip like a shark can smell blood in the water.

"What?" she snaps, as Will hopelessly tries to prevent Finn from tripping over his own feet. Kurt shoots the choir director and appraising look before turning back to meet her hard gaze.

"Nothing," he says lightly, with an all too innocent expression. Practice continues on without incident, and she casually makes sure she's the last one left when they're dismissed.

Twenty minutes later, all of the Glee kids have gone home, except Quinn. Instead of going to the mall with Mercedes and Kurt, she's pressed up against the piano as Will sucks on the pulse point of her neck.

"We should really find a better place for this," he says, but he doesn't seem like he wants to stop anytime soon. She answers him with yet another kiss, and they're both starting to lose track of their surroundings.

"Oh!" comes a voice from the door, and they wrench apart like they were burned. Rachel Berry stands in the doorway, a piece of sheet music in her hand. "I'll – I'll just - " She turns and bolts out of the door, and for a moment neither of them move.

"Shit," he utters, and if the look on his face is any indication, he thinks his whole life is about to collapse around him. "Shit shit shit..." He's gone into complete panic mode, stepping away from her, his hands coming up to cover his too pale face. He looks to her desperately, and she realizes that she's going to be the one who has to try and fix this. She has to be the one that saves them – saves him.

"It's okay," she says, reaching out to him, but he steps away with a small shake if his head. She ignores the stabbing feeling in her stomach that has joined the panic. "I'll talk to her." He barely acknowledges her as she turns and hurries out the door.

Of all the people that could have caught them, she thinks bitterly as she half runs through the empty hallways of the school, it had to be Rachel Berry. The one person she's tortured the most. The one person who would have every right to try and ruin her. _Karma_, hisses a voice inside of her, This is what you _deserve_...

What she deserves or doesn't deserve was only half of it though. Rachel loves Will doesn't she? She was the one who organized To Sir With Love in the first place. He's her favorite teacher, a mentor to her. She would know what going public with his and Quinn's relationship would do to him, wouldn't she?

It was that thought that kept her from falling apart at the seams. Rachel might take an opportunity to get back at Quinn, but not at Will's expense. In a wild stroke of luck she caught sight of Rachel though an English hallway window, hurrying across the parking lot to her car. She pushes though the closest door she can find.

"Rachel!" she calls desperately, her flats scraping loudly against the blacktop in the near empty parking lot. "Rachel wait up!" The other girl turns to face her, her expression unreadable. As Quinn skids to a stop in front of her, she realizes she has no clue what to say.

"Please...I – I can - "

"Explain?" cuts in Rachel, "I highly doubt you can explain your highly inappropriate relations with a teacher_._ To be perfectly honest, I'm only half surprised. You do have a penchant for making bad decisions. But Mr. _Schuester_ - "

"He'll lose everything," Quinn says urgently. "His whole life will be ruined if you tell someone. You can hate me all you want – you deserve to – but _please_, I'm begging you not to say anything." Tears have started to fall from Quinn's eyes, but Rachel's expression hasn't changed.

"If you were me," says Rachel, and for a moment she has an odd look in her eye, "If you were me what would you do?"

"I don't know," answers Quinn honestly. Her panic is starting to fade slowly. The longer she can keep Rachel here, the better her chances are of talking her down. "I know it looks bad – but it's not like one of those Dateline specials. He's not a creepy predator – I mean we haven't even - "

"Please," interrupts Rachel with a raised hand and a wince. "That's not something I need to picture, thank you." Quinn shakes her head and continues.

"We got to know each other – like, really know each other. We were friends before _anything_. At the end of last year, and the beginning of this summer I was an absolute mess. I didn't know which way was up, I had Puck knocking down my door, and I felt like I was missing a part of me after I...after Beth." Rachel inhales sharply when she mentions Beth, but doesn't interrupt. "I know it sounds so sappy, but without him I don't know what would have happened. I was smiling again when I was with him...he didn't even have to do anything, he just made me _happy._ He's kind and gentle and caring...and I know I said that if you told anyone he'd lose everything, but I would too. Because I'm pretty sure I'm in _love_ with my _teacher, _and its all hanging by a thread - " Rachel pulls her into a hug, and in what is without a doubt the most surreal moment of her life, she finds herself crying into Rachel Berry's shoulder.

When she comes back to him he's sitting on the risers, his head in his hands. Judging by the movement of his back he's engaging in some type of deep breathing exercise.

"She won't say anything," she says, and he sits up straight. His expression is shell shocked and he looks at her like she speaking another language. "She...she won't tell anyone."

As she moves closer he must notice the tear tracks on her face because he holds his arms out to her, an offer she would be foolish to to reject. When she is firmly planted in his lap, he finally speaks.

"I'm sorry," he says. What he's apologizing for she's not sure but she shakes her head anyway. "No matter what happens I don't want to lose you." In response, she presses a wet kiss to his lips.

"Take me home with you?" she asks. But it comes out as more of a statement of fact. He looks at her, appraising, and nods.

* * *

They make it work somehow. What they have now is enough, she reasons, when she thinks about not being able to see him at all.

Eventually, she moves back in with her mother. Ironically this affords her with more freedom than living with a friend. Her mom is so happy to have her back, so happy she has a second chance that she doesn't question why she comes home so late after school, or why she spends the majority of her weekends outside the house.

It was almost perfect, she thought. She was an almost mother, and he was an almost father. He propped her up against the onslaught of high school cruelty when no one else did. She gave him absolution when no one else would.

During the day they were Mr. Schuester, much maligned Glee director, and Quinn Fabray, honor roll student three marking periods running. They practiced the subjunctive mood in Spanish, and dance routines in Glee. They were surrounded by the chatter of students and teachers, never alone.

At night they were Will and Quinn. They watched Law & Order (his choice) and American Idol (hers). In the dark of his bedroom the only sounds were their whispers and the light scratching of skin against skin. They were almost perfect.


End file.
